


You Wear Red So Well

by tanathil



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Blood Kink, Dom Hannibal Lecter, Knife Play, M/M, Masochism, Sub Will Graham
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-16
Updated: 2021-02-16
Packaged: 2021-03-19 01:13:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,820
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29499360
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tanathil/pseuds/tanathil
Summary: "Are they too tight?"Hannibal strokes his fingers with a barely there touch along Will's forearm, tracing along the path of the medial cubital. Will tenses his muscles, lets his bound ankles and wrists pull against the bindings."No. They're perfect."Or: Some consensual knife play à la Hannigram
Relationships: Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Comments: 4
Kudos: 49
Collections: NSFW Hannigram





	You Wear Red So Well

The delicate blue veins stand out sharply in the bright lighting as the last length of rope wraps around Will's right wrist, light brown against pale skin.

"Are they too tight?"

Hannibal strokes his fingers with a barely there touch along Will's forearm, tracing along the path of the medial cubital. Will tenses his muscles, lets his bound ankles and wrists pull against the bindings.

"No. They're perfect," he answer after a moment of struggling. He's already sounding breathless, a slight tremor coursing through his body.

Hannibal leans over him, gently unfurling Will's fingers where they're clenched into a fist, and presses a soft kiss first against the palm of his hand, then on the black blindfold covering his eyes.

"Relax, darling. You're doing so well. I got you." He murmurs the words into the corner of Will's mouth. Will inhales sharply, turning his head, lips blindly searching Hannibal's. Hannibal, feeling lenient, grips Will's dark curls, keeping him still as he grants Will his kiss, a short moment of grounding affection.

Will's lips open obediently under his when Hannibal pushes his tongue inside. He licks at the roof of Will's mouth, the backs of his teeth, swallows down Will's drawn out moan with a quiet, pleased hum.

Hannibal pulls back from the kiss and straightens up, not a part of them touching. Will whines at the loss of contact, a desperate little sound, his mouth slack and open and wet, spit glistening on the thin skin of his red lips. Hannibal swiftly lays his hands on Will’s clothed chest, starts unbuttoning his light blue shirt with nimble fingers.

"Hush, darling. It's okay. I'm not going anywhere.” His voice is soothing and low, the warm bass timbre of it filling the still air around them. Will licks his wet lips and closes his mouth, shivering under Hannibal's hands.

"Just...don't stop touching me. Please?" The words come out on a pleading note, small, uncertain.

Hannibal stops what he's doing and places one palm against the side of Will's face, tenderly caressing the sharp cheekbone there with his thumb. "I won't. I promise.” His voice is strong and sure, leaving no room for Will to doubt him.

Will visibly relaxes. He nudges his face against Hannibal's hand, gives a small nod. Hannibal smiles to himself, unseen by Will's blindfolded eyes, and resumes his work on Will's shirt. The last button opened he pulls each side of the fabric aside, revealing unmarred skin but for the white, raised scar tissue across the abdomen.

Hannibal leans down over a light brown nipple, sucks it into his mouth, lavishes it with his tongue. Will moans, pushing up against the contact, hips twitching on the stainless steel table's hard surface.

Hannibal reaches one hand above Will's head. Without looking, lips and tongue still working on that tender nerve filled patch of skin, his fingers find the hilt of the knife. He removes his mouth, keeping his left hand on Will's shoulder to ground him as he grabs it, lifts it up. The blade catches the light from the ceiling lamp, reflects it like a saint's halo.

He brings the sharp cold edge of it down, lays it against a spit wet nipple. Will goes completely still, chest unmoving as he holds his breath. Hannibal applies the slightest bit of pressure, just enough to nick the skin, to make a drop of blood greet the steel. Will jolts into movement as if electrocuted, writhing against the table, moaning loud and without inhibition.

It's the most pornographic sound Hannibal's ever heard and, for a fleeting moment, he wishes they had planned this differently, wishes there was a camera here watching them with its red eye so he could play the recording back to Will later and see the way blush rises to his cheeks as he hears the noises Hannibal draws out of him. Next time, next time…

He moves the knife, drags it along the space between Will’s collarbones and pectoral muscles, slides it down the middle of his abdomen till it reaches the navel, all the while keeping the pressure hard enough to break the skin. Every now and then Hannibal indulges himself and lets the blade cut just the slightest bit deeper, making blood rise up more freely. It gathers on top of Will's skin, slides in tiny rivulets along his sides till his torso looks like a piece of art all done in hues of red, colour freely splattered over him as if from a brush of a deranged artist high on opium. 

All through this Will continues making the most beautiful sounds, aroused moans and painful whimpers, breath hitching as he tries to twist away from the blade, as he tries to push against it, the pleasure and pain showing on his face becoming one and the same, the sensations to tightly interlocked there’s no telling which one is which.

Hannibal brings his knife-free hand to Will's forehead where sweaty curls cling to his skin. He combs them back with his fingers, wonders how Will's eyes look under the blindfold. He bets they're black and beautiful, as a starless sky from a fever dream.

He places the tip of the blade against the raised scar tissue on Will's stomach. Will has been in constant, writhing motion since the knife started piercing his skin, but now he freezes, mouth falling open as he tries to gasp in air. "Hannibal..." he croaks out, voice frantic and so very desperate.

Hannibal ignores him.

He keeps his left hand on Will's forehead, pushes down with his right, tracing the white line of scar tissue with the blade, pressing in a bit too deep, drawing up a bit too much blood.

The scream that exits Will's throat is deafeningly loud, pained and guttural, animalistic in its rawness. Hannibal, not letting up on the pressure, slides the knife all the way along the length of the long since healed wound, his hand confident and sure in its actions.

Will's back arches off the table, spine twisting into an overextended bow. He pulls against his bindings, making Hannibal tut at him.

"Stop that, darling. You're going to chafe your wrists."

A second of silence till Will starts to laugh, the sound uncontrolled, bordering on hysterical. It takes a while for him to calm down, to manage to gasp out: "You're bleeding me dry."

"No, I'm not," Hannibal says, voice calm and matter-of-fact.

"You're opening me up. You're pushing in too deep. You...you're going to kill me." The way Will says it doesn't sound accusing, just a breathless statement, like someone pointing out that the sky is blue and snow is cold, sure in the knowledge that these things are true.

"I'm not going to kill you, darling. Trust me to know what is too much for you." Hannibal lifts the knife off from the scar, lays it down on the table next to Will's hip, watches as the blood sluggishly flows onto his stomach from the reopened wound.

He moves his hand from Will's forehead, traces it across his cheek, his sweaty neck, the bleeding wounds, staining his palm with red. Will moans under Hannibal's caress, thrusting his hips up against the empty air in needy, uncontrolled motions.

"Please..."

Hannibal doesn't think Will even knows what he's begging for, what he wants, but Hannibal knows what he _needs_.

He reaches for Will's jeans, opens the button, lowers the zipper, and pulls his erect cock free from its confines. Hannibal wraps his fingers around the veined shaft slick with precum, letting Will freely fuck into the too tight grip. He keeps his hand around Will's cock steady as he leans over him and starts hungrily lapping up the blood covering his chest, his nipples. Will moans and whimpers and pants, pretty and pained, head thrown back, neck bared as he uses Hannibal's hand to bring himself off, the movements of his hips rough and uncontrolled, without a rhythm.

Hannibal moves his mouth lower, licks across the full length of the old scar, now bleeding anew. He opens his mouth wide over the freshly opened wound and bites down hard enough for his teeth to pierce the skin on either side of the red grin.

Hannibal gasps wetly when the new blood fills his mouth. As his teeth tear into Will, Will's hips jerk up one last time and then he's coming, his release warm on Hannibal’s skin where it trickles over his fingers.

The scream that reaches Hannibal's ears as Will's orgasm washes over him sounds tormented, both pleasure and pain mixed in the sound, Will himself most likely not even able to tell the difference between those two sensations in his current state.

Hannibal digs his teeth that much deeper, swallows down the blood greedily like a parched man, one hand between his own thighs, rubbing along his clothed erection. He comes inside his pants only moments after Will, hips stuttering against his palm, his loud grunt at the moment of climax muted by the flesh and blood filling his mouth.

Despite the too dry friction against his cock, it's one of the best orgasms Hannibal’s ever had.

Everything quiets down for a handful of endless seconds, both of them breathing heavily, riding on the endorphins coursing through them. Eventually Hannibal has to force himself to open his jaws, to release the tortured skin from the clutches of his teeth lest he end up tearing off a piece of flesh.

Hannibal straightens up, his blood and cum slick fingers starting to work on untying the ropes pinning Will down. Lastly he removes the blindfold, keeping his face over Will's, shielding his eyes from the bright lamp hanging above them.

Will blinks rapidly once he can see again, pupils widening then shrinking back down, his gaze hazy. After a while he manages to focus his eyes on Hannibal’s, a drugged looking smile rising to his lips.

“Hi there.” Will’s words come out slurred and soft, voice raspy as it leaves his throat, his vocal cords undoubtedly bruised and sore.

“Hello, Will,” Hannibal murmurs back, answering his smile with one of his own. The lower half of Hannibal’s face is wet with blood. He doesn't think Will actually registers this.

“Thank you. That was…” Will’s quiet voice trails off, his loopy smile growing that much wider before a worried crease appears on his forehead. "Was it...was it good? For you, too?"

Hannibal chuckles, low and warm, gently rubbing his thumb along Will’s hairline, coaxing the skin back to smoothness.

"Darling." He cradles Will's face between his palms, the blood on his hands smearing onto Will's cheeks. Hannibal leans down, presses their sweaty foreheads together. He nudges the side of Will’s nose with his own, nostrils flaring as he inhales deeply, breathing in the scent of sweat and blood, of pain and pleasure and sex.

"It was perfect. _You_ were perfect."

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! <3  
> I can also be found here :) [@DEFONI IS WRITING SMUT ON TWTR](https://twitter.com/Defoni)


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